


Girls' Day Out

by CopperBeech



Series: The Education Of Mistress Aziraphale [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Enjoys Dessert, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a Little Shit (Good Omens), Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, Fluff and Humor, Fondling, Implied Oral Sex, Implied Switchiness, Implied roleplay, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Marriage Proposal, Mild Smut, Possessive Crowley (Good Omens), Romantic Fluff, Semi-Public Sex, Sex with Snake Form Crowley (Good Omens), Sexual Humor, Shopping, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), implied anal fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:29:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25977490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopperBeech/pseuds/CopperBeech
Summary: Nanny decides her lady friend’s wardrobe needs an update. Shopping, lunch,  and bad behaviour ensue.“Shall I bring that now, Miss, or will you want to wait for your friend?”“Ah – “ Aziraphale turns. Where Crowley’d been discreetly picking increasingly pointed teeth a moment ago, there’s nothing.A heavy coil winds around her ankle.“Oh – no, she’s had to take a call – she’ll be vexed if I wait – “A kid-glove chin rubs her shinbone in a credible approximation of a human nod.“Very good. I’ll leave a menu.”
Relationships: Nanny Ashtoreth/Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Series: The Education Of Mistress Aziraphale [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1882369
Comments: 39
Kudos: 87





	Girls' Day Out

**Author's Note:**

> I gave femme!Beelzebub a girly day out (with long-lasting consequences) in one of my [first fics](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20452331) , and it seemed past time for the wives to have some fun.
> 
> Barely earns its Explicit rating compared to earlier installments in the series. I haven’t thought of any further additions, but I’m leaving the series open because a random brain cell says I should. (Headmistress Aziraphale, hmmm....)

“Really, Crowley – ‘

 _“Nanny_ where people can hear us.”

“This seems a bit – reckless. _Good Things For Bad Girls?”_

“Suits perfectly, dunnit? You’re a good thing, and I’m a bad girl. Go on in.”

The boutique’s barely been open a month, and in contrast to most of the upscale shops of London, at least half the window mannequins are rounded, bosomy, hippy – the composition hands plumply shaped, with big rings. There seems to be a surplus of cartwheel hats.

“That one,” says Nanny, nodding at the next to last dress in the display, belted pink ponte with a skirt so full that invisible threads had been used to show how far out it would swing.

“It’s so – _exposed.”_

“Show off those pretty shoulders, angel. We’re doin’ lunch later and I want everyone to see how delicious you are. That school uniform’s got to go.”

“It’s _not_ a school uniform. Tartan is stylish.”

“In.”

The clerk – excuse us, in someplace this trendy and expensive she’s almost certainly an _associate_ – looks almost like one of the window mannequins, except for her nose stud and a sleeve tattoo of vines and butterflies. _Welcome to Good Things, please let me know if I can help you find anything, if we don’t have your size we can order._

Aziraphale looks fairly frantic, and manages a discreet whisper.

“ _Crowley, I’m not accustomed to shopping ready-to-wear.”_

“ _Nanny. Leave it to me.”_

“Oh, what a lovely tea set.”

It figures. Leave the angel unsupervised for thirty seconds, and she’ll find a tea set. “Yes, if you’d like tea, I can model the designs that interest you while you relax. Please, sit… are you looking for evening wear? Party dresses? Something a little glamourous?”

“Bit’ve everything. My girlfriend’s ready for a new look – ”

“ _Crowley, it’s not necessary to spell out the exact nature of our relationship to everyone – you’re absolutely_ ** _clinging_** _– “_

“ _Nanny._ Let’s start with everything in this end of the window. _Proud’ve you, angel, want them all to be jealous. Fomenting discord, remember._ ”

“The curvy collection, right you are, mum.”

The tea’s a perfectly brewed, citrusy Lady Grey, and it arrives with a plate of exquisite little petits fours, _G’s_ and _B’s_ drizzled on top of each one in contrasting icing. They go a long way to calming Aziraphale’s nerves.

“ _We’ll have you out of that blouse in no time. You look like a Sunday school teacher.”_

_“I don’t see what’s wrong with that.”_

“All right, this is the Starlet dress, very retro. Three-quarter sleeves, the gloves are in the display under the counter. We have it in black, too, but I think this is your colour. That hair, it’s absolutely _Monroe.”_

The clerk turns in a circle to show how far the dress fans out. She’s got another tangle of inked vines dipping down into the surplice cleavage.

“ _Gotta do something about the hair too. That bun.”_

_“It’s practical.”_

“You will _always_ make an entrance in this dress. Shall I hang that in the fitting room for you? I believe you’d be about a – oh, these are American sizes, the flagship store’s in Los Angeles – let’s say two-x.”

 **“** _It’s_ **_pink._ **"

_“So’s that thing you’re eating.”_

_“It’s not the same.”_

_“Nice icing for a tasty morsel._ Thanks, we’ll try that one.”

_“I still think we ought to have looked at that Beige place. Nice, sensible, smart.”_

_“Boring. That’s why it’s called Beige. We're not in the Bastille any more, go a little crazy.”_

A blue peasant dress follows, a lavender number with a sheath skirt, a ruffly white blouse – Aziraphale insists on something white – and a skirt that looks like it might cover a table for four.

“I think this’ll do to go on with, let’s try ’em on – “

“Will you need any assistance?”

“Nah. World class at doin’ up zips, me. C’mon, beautiful.”

Aziraphale looks flustered before she’s half undressed. Nanny holds up the tartan kilt as if it’s a particularly badly cured animal skin before snapping it onto a surplus hanger.

“Plain white knickers. What happened to the ones I got you?”

“You know perfectly well what happened to them.”

“Here we go, step in, I’ll get the zip – ”

It’s a bit of a production getting the angel’s bosom into the front of the dress, which is built to hold it, but a little complicated.

“Crowley, I can manage – “

“Let me. Used to handlin’ these.”

“You – oh! That is _absolutely not necessary – “_

“It is if I say it is. Research. Need to see if they’ll show.”

Nanny’s taking her time getting Aziraphale’s left breast tucked into its half of the surplice, and probably she’s finding the nipple to make sure it’s centered just so, and probably she goes on lazily thumbing and stroking it for purely investigative reasons.

“Ah – Crowley – we’re in public –”

“Not with that curtain closed, we en’t.”

The bun leaves fluffy tendrils of hair curling out at the back of Aziraphale’s neck. Nanny nudges them aside with her tongue before planting a series of ghosting kisses that make angel hair prickle up on exposed forearms. The right breast needs settling too. Symmetry is important.

“Love the way these stand right up, you’re so susceptible, angel – “

It always makes her shiver a little.

“Now look at yourself.”

Experiment successful. The shirring of the bodice keeps the angel’s predicament from being absolutely obvious.

“G’wan out, try the big mirrors.”

“After you did _that_ – “

“Was for science, angel.”

The pink dress goes on the counter. The clerk’s already deciding how to spend her commission. The blue one joins it promptly; the colour points up how flushed her customer’s becoming.

“I can turn up the aircon if you'd like.”

“”Good idea,” says Nanny as the angel’s about to demur.

“ _Crowley, you_ hate _cold rooms.”_

_“Like what they do to you though. This one’ll show it.”_

It’s a little struggle getting the zip up this time.

“Didn’t even know they _made_ cotton slips anymore. We’ll fix that too.”

“Oh, this one fits so _closely._ ”

“Shows how hot you are, angel.”

“It shows that I’m very _large.”_

“Someone made it to _fit_ girls shaped like you. Must mean someone wants t’see girls like you wear it, don’t y’think?. We’ll get you a jacket, aircon’s definitely working.”

“Oh! Stop that!”

“Will not.”

“I can’t go out there like this.”

“Then don’t. I’ll take it up to the counter.”

:”We’re never getting _that_ one.”

”Um, this might be the time to tell y’I took your blouse and skirt up to the counter, too.”

“Oh! You! _Please_ stop that – “

“You don’t want me to.”

“She’ll hear.”

“She’s got earbuds in and she’s shopping for concert tickets on her phone. _Look_ at that.” It feels like just a huff of breath tickling her ear, but then the serpent tongue trails along the shell of it, deeply split. She knows what that means.

“You’ll wrinkle it – “

“What’re miracles for? All right, all right – “

“What’re you doing?”

“Panty lines. These’re goin’ right in the bin.”

“ _Crowley – “_

“We’ll find you some nice ones.”

“Can I get you anything?”

The angel jumps.

“We’re champion, thanks – this lavender one’s comin’ with us too – “

Aziraphale snatches up the gingham skirt as Crowley hands the sheath dress out, because the white Marks-and-Sparks knickers have already disappeared into the ether.

“Hmm. Like that one. It’s meant to go with the white top, here. Plaid at least, bit more comfortable with that?”

“More _pink._ At least it’s _roomier.”_

“Arms up.” The blouse fits like a coat of paint, except for the double ruffle of the cap sleeves. Nanny looks thoughtful, drops the elastic down to bare rounded shoulders, nudges it up again. “Can’t decide, how do you like it?”

“It shows _everything – “_

“Mm’hm. Looks like you’re tryin’ to smuggle a couple’ve taw marbles there.”

“I haven’t spent this sort of money on clothes in _years – “_

“I’m spendin’ it. Hm, yep, we’re gettin’ this one. Look, you can’t even tell I’m doin’ this.”

She’s quite right: it doesn’t even disturb the hang when she reaches under the back of the skirt, slips her hand between squirming angel legs. A little more loudly, for the clerk’s benefit, she says “I really think y’should get ’em all, angel. You look a treat in every one. _Oh, flowin’ with milk and honey, aren’t we?”_

Aziraphale’s apparently gone on mute, because Nanny can see in the mirror that her lips are moving but there’s no sound coming out.

“Mmm, I know somethin’ that always gets you goin’ – “ Her hand slides slowly, deliciously back between the plump cheeks.

The barest sound emerges this time. “ _We haven’t got any – “_

“You’re slippery enough. See -- ? Slides right in. Don’t worry, only one finger in a fitting room, mm, feels just like satin ribbon – “

“You. Are horrid.”

The angel’s eyes are closed, her head back against Nanny’s jacketed shoulder.

“Yep, that’s why you’re pushing back like that.”

The finger (only one, true to her promise) glides slowly, teasingly out and then in again, circling and twisting, until the angel’s breath picks up in a ragged rhythm that’s going to be hard to disguise for much longer.

“Playin’ with my food, bad habit, I know.” The sound of the curtain rings on the booth makes Aziraphale all but levitate. “Miss? We’ll take all of these, and’ve you got a little girls’ room? Tea, y’know.”

* * *

Nanny’s hands are aromatic with rosemary soap when she emerges to snap a black card down on the counter. Aziraphale’s colour is still high, and it’s fetching with the pink dress. The clerk’s seen couples like this before, didn’t miss a beat when she put it back through the fitting room curtain, _Madame says you’re to wear this one._ If she noticed a distinct lack of underthings when Aziraphale asked for help with the zip, she said nothing.

 _“What took you so long?”_ They never need the loo for human purposes, after all.

“ _Potted ficus in there needed a good talkin’ to.”_

Aziraphale’s low-heeled spectator pumps don’t quite set off the look. The clerk knows a shop. Of course she does.

* * *

“I don’t know how you manage in these things, Crowley. You barely know how to walk on human legs anyway.”

“Less to unlearn. Feet closer together, little arch in the spine.”

They’re pink too, with a slightly metallic finish, ankle straps cinching them in place. Nanny’s had mercy and selected chunky heels, though they _are_ four inches high..

“We’ll get you some nice stockings. Maybe white ones. Gotta do something ‘bout the knickers anyhow. Speakin’ of which, walk over this way – “

“Eeeep!”

“Just wanted to see’f it worked like in that picture. She said that was Monroe hair. Hat almost came off, too.”

“And I almost caught my new heels in that grate – “

“What are miracles for?”

“ _You’re going to pay for this.”_

“Oh, I can’t wait.”

* * *

“I haven’t had so much makeup on since Egypt.”

“ ‘member when you did my eyes?”

“They looked lovely outlined in all that kohl.”

“Dark for you. That little bit’ve blue’s plenty.”

“What’s the cologne again?” (The flicker of Crowley’s tongue near the display had alarmed the counter girl until Aziraphale had asked solicitiously, “Are your ears still popping, dear?” “Ao, I know, I hate flying,” said the girl. “But good to get home, innit?”)

“ _Acqua di Parma._ Used to smellin’ bergamot on you.”

“Where now? We’re accumulating rather a lot of carriers.”

“We’ll manage. What are miracles for?”

* * *

“Well, _that_ was a bit much – “

“You’re right. That place next door to you has loads better prices on the Rabbits ‘n’ things.”

“I meant the fur handcuffs – is _everything_ pink -- ?“

“Nothin’ humans can’t make tacky’f they try.”

“At least they had my size – “

“In handcuffs? We can go back.”

“I meant the knickers – “ Aziraphale stops briefly on the pavement and lifts one foot, wincing. “We could’ve taken the Bentley, you know.”

“Wanted to give you the full day-out experience. ‘Sides, like I said, want to show you off.”

“Do you _really_ walk around all day in these things?”

“Told you, it’s an art. Wait, we’ve got some time to kill before lunch, know just the thing.”

* * *

“Parcels in the boot?”

“Just hold ’em on our laps, ta. Been shoppin' for my pretty girlfriend, want to check our haul.”

_“Crowley, you really have to stop – “_

“Where to then?”

“Thirty-one Berkeley Street, Mayfair.” Nanny settles an unwieldy accumulation of shopping bags on their respective laps. “Sometimes a girl uses a miracle, sometimes she just wants a nice hour in a salon. You'll like the foot bath. There’s tea too. Just your speed.”

As Nanny speaks, her hand with its glossy black nail varnish comes to rest behind the shoebox (and the carrier from Ann Summers, and the cosmetics from Floris and Liberty) balanced on Aziraphale’s knees; slithers with appropriate snakiness under the hem of the ponte skirt.

“We’ll get you a nice colour match. They do gold leaf, what about that?”

“Oh – ah – seems a bit extravagant – “

“Nothin’s too good for you, angel.”

“You needn't do this -- ”

“Do ‘xactly as I please.”

Which she is. The hand’s worked its way up.

“Crowley, you really _shouldn’t – “_

It’s unclear whether Aziraphale is still merely disparaging extravagance.

“Just tryin’ to show you a good time.”

“You’re being, ah – so _demonstrative – “_

“You like it.”

“Ah – well – I – ”

“This the right part of Berkeley Street?” the cabbie breaks in.

“B'lieve we need to be a little further up – “

Aziraphale, for no evident reason, emits a small teakettle noise.

“Keep on f’r a bit – lookin’ for a place sort’ve tucked away in a little nook up here – on the right, I think – or should we be going left, angel?”

“I haven’t the foggiest – “

“Ah, c’mon, y’know exactly where I’m tryin’ to get. Just a sec – yes – I think we’re there.”

If the cabman notices the nearly exophthalmic widening of Aziraphale’s eyes in the rearview, he doesn’t comment.

* * *

“Miss Ashtoreth! Back so soon? Manicure need a touch-up?”

The collection of carriers seems to have vanished between the cab and the door of the day spa ("send these 'round to your flat now, angel?"). What, after all, _are_ miracles for?

”Holdin’ up fine, Celia. We’ve been doin’ the shops, got time for Azira here? Haute pedicure, foot massage, only the best for my girl.”

 _“_ “Lucky day, Phuong’s free. Right over this way. _Azira,_ isn’t that the Princess in Avatar?”

“I – ah – don’t believe so,” manages Aziraphale, who for some reason seems too put about, for once, to demur at Nanny’s public service announcements.

* * *

“You know your – ah – scales started to show for a bit there. Right at your neck. I don’t think she saw it.”

“Watchin’ you enjoy things, angel. Gets t’me that way.”

“I think you frightened her a bit. You didn’t look away once.”

“Can’t help it. Hungry.”

“Lunch _is_ next, isn’t it?”

“Not what I meant.”

* * *

There’s the faint tinkling of a piano in the background, but it’s less opulent, more intimate, fernier than the Ritz. They’re seated at a table for two, a good distance from any other patrons now that the lunch rush has thinned out.

“Let’s get mimosas, we’re doin’ this girly – “

“Oh, look, they’ve got white asparagus.”

“ – _carne cruda_ might be nice though – “

Crowley leans slightly towards raw meat dishes, especially on days like this one when her fangs are starting to look a little sharper than normal. They’ve been getting that way since the salon; she’s clearly got some unfinished business.

“Kick off the shoes, angel, no one’ll notice. Nice long tablecloths.”

“So _that’s_ how you put up with it.”

A toe strokes the arch of the angel’s foot. It feels as if there might be a scale or ten on it.

“Oh, thank you, this looks lovely – “

“We’ll follow with the capellini, bottle've Montepulciano – ?“

“I’m ever so peckish.”

“Good. Hear dessert here's first-rate.”

“Oooh, _sbaglione_ – haven’t had that in ages – “

“Y’know, I like that comb-out Celia gave you. Think the bun’s history.”

“You were perfectly happy with it when I was _Headmistress Aziraphale – “_

“Oh, ta. Cheers, angel.”

_“Sssss! Crowley!”_

“You’re hissin’, angel. Snake, um, rubbin’ off on you?”

“You are going to get us – “

“Quiet corner, angel. No worries. Enjoy your food.”

The pianist works his way through a waltz medley and settles into translucent Impressionist harmonies just as the waiter arrives to clear and take dessert orders.

“Shall I bring that now, Miss, or will you want to wait for your friend?”

“Ah – “ Aziraphale turns. Where Crowley’d been discreetly picking increasingly pointed teeth a moment ago, there’s nothing.

A heavy coil winds around her ankle.

“Oh – no, she’s had to take a call – she’ll be vexed if I wait – “

A kid-glove chin rubs her shinbone in a credible approximation of a human nod.

“Very good. I’ll leave a menu.”

The _sbaglione_ arrives in a fluted cornet, a drizzle of _ciliegino_ swirled on the top.

A slight crescendo passage in _The Sunken Cathedral_ disguises a series of small moans. The yards of material in the skirt cover a little shift in her position on the seat.

She dips the spoon in slow motion, as if something else has her attention. Jumps slightly, but that might be at the sound of some dropped cutlery several tables away.

Ann Summers’ Fearless Lace range, for the record, is flimsy enough that a determined blunt serpent nose can push it to one side.

 _Sbaglione_ is a remarkably sensual confection. It’s often served with an airy biscuit, and licking the drizzly Marsala pudding off this stretches out the sweetness. Diners have been known to close their eyes in rapture, even to squirm with delight. Rarely, however, do they find themselves so transported that a serviette is required to muffle a series of faint ecstatic whimpers. As a side note, serpent tongues are notoriously agile, and numerous species are thigmotropic, meaning fond of, and adept at, wriggling into tight spaces.

When the spoon drops, it at least lands in the dish.

The other lady’s returned to the table by the time the waiter arrives to clear, and declines a pudding, saying her lunch had ended on the perfect note. “Just the check, ta. We’ve got an appointment – need a moment, angel? You look a little breathless.”

* * *

“”We already _bought_ jewelry – “

“Couple’ve costume pieces, ‘n’ a watch. No watch pockets in that dress, it’d spoil the line.”

“And I’m really about done up – “

“Hullo, got an appointment. Name's Crowley?”

“Right you are. I’ll just be a moment.”

“And you know how I deplore anything _flashy – “_

“You’ll like these then. Or one’ve’em. I hope.”

The shopkeeper reappears from a far recess of the counter, and sets a velveteen tray down beneath the glass, murmuring about Security Reasons.

“Do you know your size?”

“”Ah, this isn’t for me. 'S’for Azira here, she’s my girlfriend.”

“ _Crowley, you really needn’t keep on – “_

“But I’m hoping she’ll be my wife.”

* * *

“That was quite bold of you, dear. One might even say reckless.”

“Always one for the dramatic stroke, me.”

“What if I’d said no?”

“You practically said yes last week, after the opera. Reckoned it wasn't just 'cos I sat through it for y'.”

“I was half asleep.”

“You never sleep.”

“I might tonight. It was a very tiring day.”

"Ah, hopin' we could go for drinks somewhere. Celebrate, y'know -- ?"

"I've just got a case in at the shop -- "

Nanny pouts. "I want to show you off. Make everyone envious. Scores me one've the Deadlies 'n' you don't even have to do any tempting."

"Aren't we meant to have been doing that all day?"

"Not with you wearin' my ring."

A tasteful setting glints in the fading light as Nanny lifts a plump hand, touches it delicately to her lips. The fangs have receded, the serpent only visible as a flicker of golden eyes tilted up above smoked lenses. There may be an unaccustomed sheen to them.

"All right, my dear. Girls' Night Out. Lead the way."

_finis_

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, there actually is a salon at the stated address in Mayfair, and yes, there is a plus-size store called Beige, which is fine if you want to look well-dressed at the office. The place they actually shop is modeled on a standalone storefront in Los Angeles called Vixen, which I found when I was noodling around looking for inspiration. Here's the [pink dress](https://www.michelinepitt.com/products/pre-order-starlet-swing-dress-in-rose-pink-vixen-by-micheline-pitt?variant=4470950494231&currency=USD&utm_medium=product_sync&utm_source=google&utm_content=sag_organic&utm_campaign=sag_organic&gclid=Cj0KCQjwsuP5BRCoARIsAPtX_wGV9lHfUzTpHqq1ntX8Xb49kdxXIQIF8INtmvrdTLKzt4_vvDbzhaEaAiEiEALw_wcB). 
> 
> There's a story too complicated to be told, involving a drama group that I briefly hung out with in Heston and the group's secretary and her husband and the pink fur handcuffs from Ann Summers that no one wanted to know they owned, except that some things once seen cannot be unseen.
> 
> If you enjoyed, share, reblog, comment! Podfic and fanart always welcome (especially if anyone wants to do Aziraphale Monroe on the sidewalk grate). Come irritate me on Tumblr @CopperPlateBeech


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